Prompt: Frostiron in which one of the shards of shrapnel near Tony's heart shif putting him at a high risk for complications. (Warning for Injury).

If Tony were to tally up the number of times the electro-magnetic field of his arc reactor had been disturbed – be it by someone tearing it out of his chest, interrupted by a jolt or one of the many times he had to remove it to replace the toxic palladium core – then he'd kind of terrify himself. Whenever the field was interrupted/removed, the shrapnel pieces in his atrium septum shifted and then, once the arc was back, they shifted back; it was rather miraculous that all that shifting hadn't torn something vital.

Well, miracle time was over apparently. And all because of a well placed EMP, courtesy of a Doom-bot.

He'd taken precautions with the effects of EMP of course, but because the entire function of an arc reactor was to create a field of electro-magnetism, he had rather ineptly failed to account for possible fluctuations. The field had only been disturbed for a few moments, but apparently it had been enough as a searing pain throughout his chest – as he was so astutely informed by JARVIS – seemed to indicate a tear in his atrium.

And so, the great Tony Stark was going to die of internal bleeding, in an abandoned warehouse. At the hand of fucking Victor Doom.

'Hack'

"Well, well."Drawled an all to familiar voice. Closing his eyes, Tony wondered if he'd unwittingly done something particularly bad in the last few days, as he was clearly being punished, "You look unwell, man of Iron."

"Bite. Me." Tony bit out, pulling off his helmet in a desperate fight for the oxygen he knew would do nothing to ease his suffering.

A deep chuckle, and then Loki was next to him, kicking him in the side. Well, more like he used his foot to nudge the incapacitated Tony onto his back, but in his current condition, it hurt like a kick.

Grunting, Tony watched helplessly as the God of Mischief lowered himself to squat beside him, one arm resting on his bent knee, the other coming to rest just above the glow in his chest. Closing his eyes, Loki seemed to sense the damage and shook his head, "You're dying."

Trying to find the strength in his body to move, fight, Tony remained firmly planted where he was. Grunting in frustration, he spat, "No shit, Sherlock."

With a small smirk, Loki tilted his head to the side and seemed deep in thought. After a moment that felt like a year, Loki's face became resolute and he softly said, "I can heal you."

Tony almost laughed.

"And why would you do that?" He rasped, the aching in his chest evolving into a fiery agony. His breaths felt like microscopic shards of glass in his lungs and his head was spinning. Dying was, as it turned out, about as fun as he remembered. Fuck.

Smirk widening, Loki held out open palms and easily replied, "Who can put a value of having an enemy in your debt."

"Ugh." Tony groaned, eloquent as always. Of course the fucker would hold it over him for the rest of his life. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. You heal me, and I'll let you walk out of here, scott free."

That drew a genuine laugh from the man hovering above him, "There is one thing you should know, however," he continued, as though Tony hadn't spoken. "The act of magically healing somebody is an intimate one, normally reserved for family and friends." Raising an eyebrow, Loki said – with quite a bit more malicious glee than Tony could relax before - "The magic will weave it's work, via a kiss."

Now it was Tony's turn to laugh. "You're fucking with me aren't you." He could taste blood. "This is just a sadistic game to humiliate me before I die." He couldn't see anything but spots any more, "You can't really heal me." The last statement was tinged with resignation. He really was going to die this time.

"I can. And I will, if you agree that you will graciously be in my debt."

The voice cut through all of Tony's pain. All his fear. And most importantly, through all his instincts, the ones telling him not to indenture himself to this villain.

"I agree." His words were more of a pained breath than anything, but apparently they got through as soft lips pressed against his, and all his pain disappeared.

Tony hummed as he felt the pinched, pained tension in his expression soften and smooth out, his muscles relaxing and turning to jelly as whatever magic Loki was infusing him with spread over his body like a wave of pure bliss.

After a moment, Loki's lips moved over his; no longer content to simply rest in a near platonic embrace. As those heavenly lips caressed his, pulling one of his own between them, Tony responded as much as his magical lethargy would allow.

As the pressure in his chest subsided, going the way of the pain, Tony marvelled at the fact that not only had he been healed by magic – something he still struggled with the idea of – but that Loki – trickster god – had actually held his word. He'd been certain that he'd pull some kind of loophole out of his sleeve to hurt Tony more.

The pressure was finally completely gone when Loki made to pull away, obviously finished with his task, but Tony surprised only Loki more than himself when his gauntlet clad hand moved to the back of Loki's head and pulled him down; looking to deepen the kiss by pressing his tongue against the seam of Loki's lips.

The God tensed for a moment, before responding to Tony's ministrations with a passion that rivalled his own. As Loki's tongue rasped against Tony's and teeth grazed over his lips, Tony hummed again, this time louder. His heart was beating rapidly and warmth was washing over his skin and when Loki lowered himself so his upper body was resting against his, Tony wished he weren't wearing the suit. He longed to feel that lean, hard body against his. To feel Loki's weight upon him. He wanted more, he wanted everything.

Fuck did he want this.

Alas, the universe did not look kindly upon Tony Stark - or perhaps it did, depending on the perspective - as Steve Roger's voice bellowing out his name among the ruins interrupted the moment.

Tony finally dropped his hand and let Loki pull away. He thought for a moment to get defensive about his surely red-flushed cheeks and his dilated pupils – thank god the suit didn't allow for telling bulges – but one look at Loki showed that he was at least partly as affected as he was. Along with swollen lips and red cheeks, Loki was also sporting a rather dashing bed-hair look; Tony repressed the regret that bed-head wasn't literal in this instance.

The two stayed perfectly still, Tony looking at Loki and Loki staring into space as though searching for a reason for what had just happened, until Steve's voice grew close enough to cause concern. Snapping to attention, Loki picked up his sceptre, which Tony hadn't even noticed he'd been holding, and made to leave. Before he did though, he leaned back over Tony for what he worried might have been a goodbye kiss of all things, but actually turned out to be a whispered promise.

"We're not done."

Then he was gone, and a moment later Steve's concerned face filled his vision. As the Captain fussed, refusing to pay head to Tony's assurances that he was fine, Tony thought on Loki's parting statement.

'We're not done.'

Was he referring to their deal, or to the kiss? Tony didn't know, but he did know that the last thing he would ever admit to was the small flutter of excitement at the prospect of the latter.